


Kyanite

by brevitas



Series: Ashes to Ashes [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon AU, Fantasy AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:49:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets to see for himself their shared connection when Grantaire gets stabbed by a pickpocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kyanite

The next few days are spent very differently by the Rider and his dragon. Enjolras puts a great deal of effort into uncovering as many scholastic resources as possible concerning their connection and pours over books that spit dust when opened; Grantaire drinks and gambles and when he loses has to go somewhere else to gamble some more.

Enjolras is entirely ignorant to Grantaire's constant supervision and despite the majority of time the dragon stays drunk he is good at keeping his promises; not a sliver of his own emotions leek through and to Enjolras it truly is like nothing has changed.

The bite wound heals up on its own in a few days; out of respect for Grantaire's desperate need for privacy Enjolras continues wearing a bandage so the other Amis do not suspect that anything is amiss. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still the only two that know and they're visiting Enjolras daily, doing their best to aid him in his quest for knowledge.

For the humans nothing is outside of the ordinary apart from their recent devotion to reading, and it remains that way until Monday night, the evening before their next meeting. Enjolras is sitting on the couch scanning pages that he thinks may be of use; Combeferre is organizing their notes in about six different notebooks; Courfeyrac is sprawled on his stomach on the floor trying to make sense of a Mundite illustration book. It's quiet, the only noise being Enjolras' downstair neighbour playing a piece on his piano, and the windows are open to let in a cool breeze.

Across town in the roughest bar in Halophanta Grantaire, half-drunk and slumped over his drink, is being chosen as the next mark by a pickpocket. He has no idea, of course, and he's rather distracted anyway but still he curses himself for not paying more attention when a cold blade kisses his side and a low voice whispers in his ear, "Stay _real_ still, mister."

"Dammit," he groans, sitting up the few inches he's allowed. The youth stays directly behind him and pushes the knife in harder, reminding Grantaire to move no further. "What do you want, kid?"

"Your wallet," he answers promptly, leaning into Grantaire so those around them won't suspect anything's wrong. Honestly they look more like a gay couple than a stranger trying to steal all of Grantaire's money.

"Alright, alright." Grantaire sighs and loosens his grip on his glass. "Just don't stab me while I'm reaching for it, okay?"

The pickpocket offers no verbal response to him but Grantaire can only assume he's heard (with a scant few inches between them there's no way he couldn't have) and he reaches obediently for his wallet in his back pocket. He's nearly there when he pauses doubtfully, his fingers hovering above his jeans. If this had been any other day he would have just let it go but Grantaire has just barely won all his money back and his whole fucking week has done nothing but sucked; he's sure as hell not going to let it get even worse.

So he surges an elbow back and hits the man in the stomach, earning a surprised yell for his efforts. The criminal doubles over and Grantaire turns on his bar stool, reaching for the knife at the same time the pickpocket does his best to stab Grantaire in the side.

Really in a match like this there can be only one winner and back in his apartment Enjolras gasps at a startling bloom of pain in his side, an invisible injury tucked right in between two ribs. He claws his shirt off and brushes his fingers to the skin, expecting blood; he's confused when his palm comes away clean instead.

"Enjolras," Combeferre asks curiously from the other side of the room, noticing his suddenly frantic motions. "What's wrong?"

"Jesus," he hisses, "I think I've been stabbed." The pain doubles like the blade is being turned and he shouts, gripping his couch cushions until his knuckles go white. Courfeyrac rushes to him and scrutinizes his side but he's about as lost as Enjolras is for the origin of the pain; he looks back at Combeferre and just slightly shakes his head.

"It's Grantaire," Combeferre says knowingly, his mouth puckered in a frown. He remembers Enjolras mentioning that Grantaire said something about it during their dream, that the dragon can shield him from everything except pain. "I'm fairly sure he's the one who's been stabbed."

"We need to find him," Enjolras gasps, clutching his uninjured side. "I think he's hurt very badly."

Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchange a look and it's Cour who says tentatively, "Where do you suggest we look? There's a lot of bars in Halophanta."

Enjolras sags bonelessly against the sofa, fighting to keep his breathing even lest he hyperventilate, and says desperately, "I don't care." He takes a deep breath through his nose and repeats, "I think he's really hurt."

Grantaire has offered to take the Amis drinking many times before, but the invitations have always been passed up. Courfeyrac regrets that now; he has no idea of the man's personal taste when it comes to where he prefers to drink. While Combeferre and Courfeyrac discuss possibilities Enjolras gets his panic under control and relaxes himself with the knowledge that at least Grantaire isn't dead; he'd read somewhere that Riders will die when the dragons die though the author could not say whether this was from the physical bond or simply an emotional one.

Closing his eyes Enjolras feels out that tiny thread linked to the back of his skull that he associates with Grantaire, the tenuous connection he'd sought out when he first felt a flicker of the dragon's own emotions. He has no idea what he's doing and feels stupid trying but he thinks very hard that he wants to speak to Grantaire and without being fully aware of what's changed knows that he's succeeded.

His thoughts are drowned to a quiet sort of background noise and then there's Grantaire's voice, sounding thoroughly surprised when he asks, "What are you doing?"

Enjolras is so relieved that he takes a moment to collect himself. Even the pain feels distant now and he can scarcely hear his friends' conversation, the words vague and indecipherable.

"I was worried," he says finally. "Are you alright?"

Grantaire's sigh gusts across his thoughts like a token breeze. "Oh, right," he says. "I'm sorry about that. It was this damned pickpocket and really I just spent a good portion of the last three days winning all that money and he was a grubby little fucker anyway."

Enjolras frowns. "Grantaire," he says impatiently, making the man focus. "I don't care about that--are you alright?"

"I will be," he says obscurely. "I'm on my way home now."

"Do you need some help?" Enjolras asks. "I can be there in ten."

"No, no," Grantaire says quickly. "I'm good, we're good. You'll feel fine before the evening's out."

Enjolras supposes that answers his question on Grantaire's well-being though it angers him that Grantaire is implying he was asking only for his own sake. He frowns in the privacy of his own head and says defensively, "I wasn't asking for myself."

Grantaire's only reply is silence, which irritates Enjolras further. He's about to snap a snide comment when begrudgingly Grantaire says, "Actually, Enjolras, I may need a _little_ help."

"Okay," Enjolras says immediately; he's above holding Grantaire's rudeness against him in a situation as serious as this. He considers their conversation finished and takes a minute to try and figure out how to turn it off, concentrating very specifically on severing the connection.

Grantaire's amusement warms his voice. "Command it," he suggests and Enjolras has no trouble picturing his satisfied smile to accompany the words. "Don't dance around it; just tell yourself to turn it off."

Enjolras snorts and says, "That seems like an unlikely way for this to work," but he does as he's told. Grantaire is laughing and, irritated, Enjolras thinks angrily, _Turn off_ \--just like that it does.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac's voices fade back in and so too does the distant sounds of the piano a floor below. The pain has become more tolerable now and allows him to sit up with only the faintest of gasps. "He wants me to come see him," he tells his friends, levering himself determinedly to his feet. "I told him I would. I don't know how long I'll be so perhaps you should head home."

His friends exchange another one of their looks (they've grown more frequent now, he thinks) and Combeferre clears his throat. "Are you sure it's safe to go alone?"

Enjolras frowns though he can't really blame them for the worry. The last time he was alone with Grantaire he'd come home bleeding.

"I'll be fine," he assures them. "He's injured anyway; I have confidence I'll be able to outrun him at this point." Enjolras can feel the same pain Grantaire can, after all, and although it is easier to stomach now it is still hindering his willpower behind going anywhere.

"If you're sure," Courfeyrac says doubtfully. "We'll come see you in the morning."

Enjolras smiles and nods, grabbing a light jacket as he heads for the door. He favors his side on the walk to Grantaire's but so long as he doesn't breathe too quickly or stretch his ribs he can ignore it.

He's only been to Grantaire's once and he never went inside but he remembers the door number without trouble. He does however spare a moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs and sigh, predicting that climbing three floors is going to do no favors for his ribs.

He's breathing hard when he reaches Grantaire's door and knocks, setting an open hand against his side while he waits. Eventually the door opens and reveals Grantaire, leaning heavily against the wall and barely managing a grin (and at this point it looks much more like a grimace).

"Enjolras," he says, "How nice to see you."

His shirt is soaked through with gore and he too holds the injury with a hand, blood seeping through his fingers. Enjolras steps inside and closes the door behind him, guiding Grantaire determinedly to the couch.

"Alright," he says professionally. "Tell me what to do." He stands above him, arms crossed, and looks so serious that Grantaire has to stifle a laugh.

"I just need you bandage it," Grantaire replies, gesturing to a roll on the coffee table. "And help me get my shirt off, if you would."

It takes some cleverness on both their parts to successfully strip him of his shirt and when they finally manage it Enjolras throws the stained shirt back behind him. He takes the bandages and, well-versed in this sort of thing, expertly wraps Grantaire in smooth, efficient circles. When he's finished he tucks the end in and asks, "How's that?"

"Perfect," Grantaire tells him, smiling. Enjolras knows it's the truth as the pain in his own side has significantly subsided. "Now all you have to do is kiss it better."

Enjolras blinks at him, then frowns. He isn't sure what they are now, not since the marking and the substantial shift in their relationship; the only communication they've had was that strange dream.

Since he looks so hesitant Grantaire smirks and says, "It'll make me feel better, since we have that, you know, _connection_."

Enjolras tilts his head but needs no more inspiration than that to lean down and press a kiss to the bandage. He straightens when Grantaire starts to laugh, throwing his head back and laughing so hard he has to hold his side and wheeze. "I can't believe you fell for it!"

Enjolras does his best to frown but it's hard with Grantaire looking so damn happy; eventually he allows a smile and shakes his head. "I thought I was helping," he says.

"You were," Grantaire assures him with a softer laugh and pats his knee. "I'm all better now."

Enjolras sighs and relaxes back against the couch. An easy silence settles between them, approved by both; neither are big on sharing feelings so neither suggest discussing what their relationship has become. Instead Grantaire says casually, "Thanks for coming," and Enjolras smiles.

"Not a problem," Enjolras replies, looking at Grantaire from the corner of his eye. Shirtless as he is Enjolras can see the pale blue scales scattered across his stomach and hips and catch a hint of the trail on the back of his arm. He licks his bottom lip and says, "I'd like to see you once; fully dragon, I mean."

Grantaire looks askance at him and says, "I dunno, Enjolras; the scars are a lot worse when I'm a lot bigger."

Enjolras hasn't got to see them; he only notices now that Grantaire has purposefully kept his back turned away and, upon piquing Enjolras' interest, now determinedly pulls a shirt on over his head. He heaves himself to a stand and ambles to the small kitchen, saying once he's safely behind the counter, "You want something before you go?"

Enjolras recognizes the dismissal for what it is and stands. "No," he says, walking to the door. He pauses there, looking at Grantaire with a slight smile. "I'll see you tomorrow at the meeting?"

"Yep," Grantaire replies idly, slouching against the counter with a beer in his hand. "I'll see you then."

**Author's Note:**

> okie doke so this update also serves as an apology for how boring I've been lately, lots of family-related drama has kept me rather occupied but hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things now that they've quieted.
> 
> so this update was requested by the following: four anons, austrus, and californiajones!
> 
> no notes for this one so woohoo
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest, don't forget to leave me requests or ask me anything you may wanna know c: kisses!


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